Children of Middle Earth
by TolkienScribe
Summary: Glimpses of the past of our beloved characters of Middle Earth. A collection of one-shots showing a part of their childhood and their youth. Rated T for safety. All characters, all ratings except M and all genres. In progress. Part of the Green Leaves universe.
1. Oropher

**Author's Note:**

**Disclaimer: **All rights belong to Tolkien. The plotlines are mine.

Enjoy!

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><p><em>Doriath,<em>

_First Age._

Sunshine streamed down, breaking between the branches of the forest. The leaves were light green in shade and the trees were light brown. Moss grew on the ground, light and springy under his feet. He took in the fresh breath of earth in the mountain air and searched for his quarry.

"I know you are out there!" he called. "That red dress cannot keep you hidden!"

He heard laugher surround him, teasing him.

"Come on, Oropher!"

He looked up and sure enough he saw an elleth in a crimson dress, shifting from one tree to another with a practised ease. Her fair hair shone in the sun, streaming behind her, fingers grasping branches expertly as she balanced her weight and moved to another branch.

"You are not going to catch me if you are going to just stand there!"

Oropher galvanized into action. Already she was far away but he was faster on the ground than on the trees, as much as he was loath to admit it. He picked up the pace, but she was faster indeed. They went on, her laughter and jests continuously taunting him. Finally he saw an opportunity. She jumped on to a low branch, close within hand reach if he jumped up. He raced forward, straining until he reached her.

Jumping up, he grabbed her foot, causing her to shriek in surprise. He tugged but at the same time reached out, not wanting her to hurt herself. She stumbled into his arms. Unprepared of the weight, he stumbled backwards. He hit the ground on his back with a grunt.

She laughed, breathless from the race before rolling away and sitting up.

"Well, that was a bit slow." She said, picking the fallen leaves from her hair. He laughed as well, getting up. His green tunic was dirty, but he wiped it carelessly.

"You shouldn't have gone on the low branch. I caught you."

"Ah, but maybe I wanted to be caught."

"Did you?" He asked, wanting to hear an answer.

She stood up and he did so as well. Slim fingers toyed with the leaves in her hand, the other hand reaching to comb through her hair for the last of the leaves. He was well past his majority and she was younger than him. He wished to wed… or more importantly wed her but looking into her laughing eyes and her free stance, he restrained himself from voicing his wish.

Soon, he promised himself.

She laughed again and this time she threw the leaves at his face, causing him to blink. In a flash, she made her way up a tree, the red split skirt parting with the white loose trousers showing underneath.

"Come on! Another game before we go back! Or are you too old to chase around in the forest?"

Oropher never liked to be challenged. Immediately he raced after her.

oOo

_Greenwood the Great,_

_Second Age._

"Father," Thranduil asked softly, placing his papers aside. They could hear the steady beating of the rain against the wooden shutters closing the window. The study was lit with many candles, most of the light as well as the warmth coming from the fireplace they were sitting closed to. Both he and Oropher was busy at work, scribbling away as they took care of papers that needed their attention.

"Yes, my son?" Oropher turned to look at Thranduil. His son had aged, he noticed. The grey eyes were the same as his own, the mischief and the playfulness were still there, but tempered by the horrors he had witnessed in the Sacking of Doriath. Thranduil inherited much from him when it came to looks, his height, prowess, build, but there were times when he saw glimpses of his wife in him, especially when he cocked his head to a side and sat back in his chair. His laugh was bright and merry, much like his wife's was.

Was.

Oropher resumed writing.

"Do you remember Doriath?"

The sounds of scribbling halted, quill held loosely in his hand few inches from his paper. He looked up and saw the pain and the longing in Thranduil's eyes. He had lost many childhood friends in the Sacking, the same way Oropher had lost many comrades and brothers in arms. And they had both, of course, lost the same family member.

He looked at his son and once again remembered his dear wife. He had proposed to her soon after one of their games in the forest. He remembered being lost of words, reduced to stuttering and becoming more and more flustered. Distraught, she had left and he pursued, until, trembling, he knelt on one knee and asked her father the permission to wed his daughter. He still remember his father by marriage telling him no, his heart breaking at the words and missing the well-meaning and jesting twinkle in his eyes until he was admonished by both his irate wife and daughter.

Thranduil watched his father turn his face towards the fire. His grey eyes closed, face caught in the fiery glow coming from the lit fireplace. Since it was night and they were in a private study, his father dressed in a simple light blue tunic and black trousers, the only luxury was the embroidery done over a neckline that was so wide it exposed his clavicles. Oropher smiled, eyes still closed. Thranduil knew that smile; one so beautiful caught in glare of the fire and yet so sad.

"Simply the memories of my youth, my son."

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I intend to write youth and childhood of many characters, including canonic characters who are briefly mentioned in the books.

Do leave a review!

Constructive criticism welcome.


	2. Samwise

_Bag-End,_

_Shire,_

_Third Age._

He skipped up the neat, pebbled road in his excitement. will be nowhere near Bag-End at the moment but perhaps Mr. Bilbo would be in residence. It was near evening and most of the Hobbits had retired to their homes, taking their wares and bought merchandize with them.

Sure enough, he saw the elder Hobbit working about in the front garden facing the door of Bag-End. The door gleamed in a new red paint and the plants were thriving under Mr. Bilbo's hands. He did not garden much but he loved his little garden so! Usually his old Gaffer takes care of it.

Dressed in a white shirt, a red jacket with golden buttons, Bilbo looked dashing. He did not seem to age as the years went by but Bilbo was always considered 'queer' by the other Hobbits.

"You tell your boy to stay away from him." A well-meaning Hobbit said to old Gaffer, shaking her finger at Sam. "Loads of trouble Bilbo is! What with all the gold and jools he has!"

"Cobble-sticks!" Old Gaffer scoffed when she left. "I worked with Mr. Bilbo for nearly all my years and never have I seen Bag-End filled with gold and jools! He is queer but he is a good Hobbit." He turned to Sam, looking down at the young hobbit-child. "You don't worry, lad. Bilbo is a good Hobbit, finest in the Shire. You stick with him and you might even learn new things."

Old Gaffer was always so wise! So Sam shadowed Mr. Bilbo, shy not to come too straight out but still very much excited to see where he may go. Mr. Bilbo had some favorite walking roads he would take and sometimes- if he was lucky- he found he walking in the night off to different places… and he would meet Elves! Elves tall and fair with gleaming dark or fair hair streaming behind them. He would hide and look but he was too far away to get a proper glimpse, alas!

So he decided one day, when his courage was up at last to go and ask Bilbo about them. That is how he came to Bag-End now!

He hesitated, watching Mr. Bilbo hum a merry tune as he worked. Then the Hobbit got up and stamped his feet before taking off his garden gloves. He turned around and looked at him in surprised pleasure.

"Ah, Samwise, my lad." The Hobbit spoke, deft fingers working with his pipe. "Come here, come here! Sit by me!"

Sam looked up at the older Hobbit in awe. Bilbo, on the other hand, was impatient and he patted the empty side of his bench. Realizing he had been staring doing nothing, the Hobbit-child scrambled up to his seat.

Bilbo took a long draught of his pipe and blew out, sighing in contentment. He had a fascination of smoke rings and he nearly could make them in all sizes. Sam watched him in rapt interest.

"So, Sam, my boy, tell me how is the Old Gaffer?"

"He is fine, sir. Just resting his feet after a long day's work, sir." Sam answered, tearing his eyes away from the smoke rings to look at Bilbo. The older Hobbit sighed happily and leaned his head back, enjoying himself.

"And how are you, my boy? Came to see Frodo, have you?"

"I am good, sir." Sam said, kicking his feet in the air. "I was just walking by. Mr. Frodo must have gone to the walking paths." They sat in silence, watching in peace and contentment the Shire was blessed with as the birds chased each other home, and the skies darkened to dark sapphire of late evening.

Bilbo began to hum, but it was a different tune, more sad and melancholy. He focused on it and realized that the Hobbit was mumbling words under his breath. The words were foreign but it was so lilting and beautiful to hear. He edged closer.

"What was that Mr. Bilbo?"

"Elvish, my boy. The language of the Elves. Pleasant, is it not?" Bilbo stuffed more weed in his pipe, lit it and settled back for more smoking.

"Elves! You know their tongue!"

"Know it? I speak it and understand it! I know plenty of their songs too!"

"Is that why you go to meet them, Mr. Bilbo?" Sam asked eagerly.

He flushed when Bilbo turned to look at him, eyes piercing. He ducked his curly dark head and studied the ground between his furry feet, studiously following the pattern of an earthworm crawling back to its home in the cracks.

"So," said Bilbo softly. "I seem to have grown a little shadow during my nightly adventures. Tell me, did you see me with the Elves?"

"Oh, sir," stammered Sam. "I did! I did! But it was so far away that I could not see them very clearly but they _had _to be Elves, sir. No one could be that tall and-and-" the Hobbit-child searched for a word but found none, so he settled for a substitute, "Amazing, sir!"

Bilbo laughed softly at his enthused words.

"Well, Sam, my lad. I will tell Master Gildor what you thought of him. Say, my boy," He turned his brown eyes to peer down at the small child. "Do you wish to stay, hmm? Maybe even learn a bit of Elvish under me?"

"Me? But-but-" stuttered Sam, surprised at the offer. Then he looked down and whispered. "I don't even know my letters, sir."

"Don't know your letters!" Sam flushed at the elder Hobbit's exclamation. But there was no mockery in his words, only genuine surprise. "Well, we can't have that now, can we?" Mr. Bilbo said matter-of-factly.

"So, now, my boy. I can teach you your letters, eh? It will do you good in this world, knowing your letters. I will teach you, if you be so willing?" Sam stared at him in awe.

"_Would you?" _Asked Sam in surprise.

"Would I? Why, of course. In fact, me boy, do you have to be anywhere?"

"N-no sir," responded Sam.

"Then come in, come in!" Bilbo snuffed out his pipe and tucked in his little box containing smoke weed in his front jacket pocket. He got up and padded to his front door. "Come, we had better get started! Learning is no easy business, after all. I have fruits, cheese, seed cakes aplenty when you start feeling a bit peaky."

Sam, unable to believe his fortune, followed him inside.

oOo

_The Wild,_

_Third Age._

"Who was Gil-galad?" asked Merry; but Strider did not answer, and seemed to be lost in thought. Suddenly a low voice murmured:

_Gil-Galad was an Elven-king,_

_Of him the harpers sadly sing,_

_The last whose realm was fair and free,_

_Between the Mountains and the Sea._

_His sword was long, his lance was keen,_

_His shining helm afar was seen,_

_The countless stars of heaven's field,_

_Were mirrored in his silver shield._

_But long ago he rode away_

_And where he dwelt none can say_

_For into darkness fell his star_

_In Mordor where the shadows are._

The others turned in amazement, for the voice was Sam's.

"Don't stop!" said merry.

"That's all I know," stammered Sam, blushing. "I learned it from when I was a lad. He used to tell me tales like that, knowing how I was always one for hearing about Elves. It was Mr. Bilbo as taught me my letters. He was mighty book-learned was dear old Mr. Bilbo. And he wrote poetry. He wrote what I just said."

"He did not make it up." Said Strider. "It is part of the lay that is called _The Fall of Gil-Galad, _which is in ancient tongue. Bilbo must have translated it. I never knew that."

-(A Knife In The Dark, The Fellowship of the Ring)

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

End part is taken from Tolkien's book Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter A Knife In The Dark, which inspired me to write this one-shot. This excerpt was one of my favorites of Sam, because I think we find a little bit more of his background with the Baggins as well as the fact how much he cherished his memories with them.

I always find Sam's personality sweet. He is like this rock, dependable and trustworthy. It is clear he was supposed to not only be a manservant but become a true hero on its own sense.

Smiley- Thank you. :)


	3. Child of Minas Tirith

**Author's Note:**

**Warning:** Rating for disturbing theme of war and child-terror.

**Dedicated:** To the children of war, who witnessed things they never should have seen...

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><p>The drums rolled louder. Fires leaped up. Great engines crawled across the field; and in the midst was a huge ram, great as a forest-tree a hundred feet in length, swinging on mighty chains. Long had it been forging in the dark smithies of Mordor, ad its hideous head, founded of black steel, was shaped in the likeness of a ravening wolf; on it spells of ruin lay. Grond they named it, in memory of the Hammer of the Underworld of old. Great beasts drew it, Orcs surrounded it, and behind it walked mountain-trolls to wield it. (Siege of Gondor, Return of The King.)<p>

_Minas Tirith,_

_Gondor,_

_Third Age._

He skidded over the corner, and ducked under an overturned wicker basket that was once used to store large number of fruits. He was small and thin, and he fitted inside it well. It was safe here, he thought.

But the noise could not be blocked.

He heard the ground shake and the rumbling and groaning of stone as buildings crumpled under the heavy firing of the catapults. He was dirty, covered in white dust that had come from such rubble. His black hair was grey as an old man's from it, his fingers dirty as he stuck it into his mouth to wipe clean the open gashes he got from sharp edges of the fallen stones he scrambled over. Then another chant rose up, higher than the sound of the catapults, causing him to cry in fear.

"GROND! GROND! GROND! GROND!"

It was a voice made of many voices, all of which were sickeningly excited and eager for the coming violence.

He cupped his ears, trying to block out the sound. The ground below him shook and he gave a small whimper. His toes curled inside his shoes, twisting closer to his body. He was quaking in fear, as the ground shook underneath him and sent waves of shock through him.

"GROND! GROND! GROND!"

His heart was hammering wildly in his chest, his breath coming in short quick gasps and he shook his head, whimpering loudly, trying to push this nightmare away, trying to make sense of what was happening around him.

The ground shook violently, his place of refuge shaking nearly off him and exposing him to the world to be slaughtered, as somewhere far away where the Grond was, the gates of Minas Tirith crashed down to the ground, the cave trolls unleashed to strike horror and fear into the hearts of Men.

The little boy only whimpered and wondered where his playmates were. He wondered what was happening. What had he done to deserve this? What had this got to do with him?

He heard men's voices screaming and he was more afraid than ever. He had seen the soldiers of Gondor, arrayed in armor and stamping up and down the courtyard. They looked so brave! But these voices did not belong to brave men.

Then he heard guttural laughter and noises of triumph. He peeked through the cracks in the basket, and his eyes widened as he saw black creatures with arms and legs of men raise their swords and cut down soldiers that were begging for mercy. It never occurred to him, in his fear, to look away or to worry that he too might be found out.

Then he heard a shrill shriek, the one he knew the wraith's beast gave and this time he stuck his fingers deep into his ears and screamed loudly, rocking to and fro like a madman cornered in an alley. So lost he was in his world that he was still silently rocking to and fro for hours and hours on end, hidden in his basket. He did not see the breaking of the dawn, or the dead army taking the field, or the shout of the new Rohirric King as he beckoned his men to fight once more at his side. He did not hear the cries of triumph, and did not witness the return of the men, victorious… and wounded.

Suddenly his reverie was broken as the basket on top of him was pulled away. He closed his eyes against the sudden glare of the sunlight that had not shone upon them for days. Then fear gripped his heart when a hand went for his collar from behind, picking him up and his feet dangled in the air.

"LET GO OF ME!" He shrieked, lashing out blindly at his attacker who was undoubtedly stronger and taller than him. he remembered seeing scullery maids twisting the necks of chickens, making them go limp in their arms in a mid-cluck, then taking up a large knife and hacking its head away.

oOo

_Orphanage,_

_Gondor,_

_Fourth Age._

The peace and quiet of night in the Orphanage was interrupted by high-pitched shrieks of fear. Children rubbed their eyes and sat up in the dark, confused.

"Get them away from me!"

"Thalion-" One of the children mumbled sleepily. "Wake up, you are dreaming."

But Thalion thrashed around in his bed, screaming at the top of his voice at the horrors of his dream. His feet kicked his blanket away and his pillow was wet from crying. The children heard a door upstairs throw open, and bare feet thudded against the wooden stairs.

"What happened?" Their kind, young caretaker asked, black hair pulled in a lazy braid. She pulled her dressing robe tight around herself. Thalion let loose another scream and she ran to him.

"DON'T KILL ME!"

"Oh, little duck, hush." She crooned, pulling the boy of ten summers into her arms. "Wake up, little one."

"Constance-" the boy sobbed into her neck.

"Hush."

"They were killing them-"

"It's not real."

"There were guts everywhere-"

"Hush, it's not real."

"I saw- but I saw!"

"None of it was real."

She rocked to and fro, the boy's arms around her neck in a stranglehold. He wept heavily into her neck, sodding her robe and the dress underneath it.

"The bodies smelled-"

"I am here." Constance said. Her own heart was hammering wildly in her chest. When she heard the screaming down below, she left the bed so fast that she woke her husband who was well known to sleep through anything. Thalion's screams in his nightmares were enough to make anyone's hair stand on an end. "They will not hurt you." Even in her heart, she knew it was a lie. The orcs felt no love for children, and they felt no love for even their own kind. Had they seen him- her fingers tightened on the child's damp nightdress.

"But Constance," the child said, pulling away and raising his grey eyes to meet hers. His fingers shifted and now, his hands were fists in her hair in an instinct of a young infant caught in a fright. "I saw it." He whispered. "They wanted me dead."

The caretaker's heart wanted to break at the softly spoken words. Thalion was found in Minas Tirth. He had not left the city with the others, and his family was cruel enough to leave him behind, so eager they were to save their own skins. The boy was found, trembling in a wicker basket by one of the Swan Knights who hauled him up to one of the elderly women in the Healing Houses where he was forced to work with the healers in wiping blood and vomit from the floors and when the war ended, he came here to the orphanage. He had grown quiet and withdrawn since, his voice only heard when he dreamt. He was disturbing when he was awake, even. She remembered one day coming upon him while he held a piece of charcoal in his hand, drawing away on a piece of parchment. Joyful that he was doing something other than simply staring ahead and rocking to and fro, she asked what he was doing.

He told her he was drawing blood- black blood that had been on the Swan Knight who brought him to the women of Healing Houses.

Constance gathered the child in her arms and carried him out of the room, ordering absent-mindedly for the rest to go back to sleep. Thalion may be ten summers but he was unhealthily thin, resulting from constant refusal to eat. She carried him to an open window. Thalion kept his face hidden in her shoulder.

"Look," she gently commanded him.

"What will I see?"

"Beauty unlike any other," she promised. Constance he trusted. Constance never meant any harm. Thalion raised his head and looked.

The town was silent in its sleep, the full moon bathing it in silver light. The stars were lit like lanterns in the black sky, shining brightly.

"It is said that the Elves woke up in the sight of the stars." She said softly in his ear. "They were so taken with its beauty that they had admired and wondered on it, and they named the stars and long after the sun and the moon were made, they still preferred walking in starlight."

She pulled back his sweat-drenched hair.

"The Men opened their eyes to the beauty of the Sun rising from the horizon, and they fell in love with it. For to them, it showed a new beginning, a new hope, a new start, a revival of all things."

"Each of them chose their own beauty." Constance ended; taking Thalion's chin and making the boy face her. "Each of them loved it dearly, but you have witnessed both the dark and the light." Constance sighed, her face growing tight at the thought. "Both the Elves and the Men faced horrors that can never be described in words, but they learned, over time, to find beauty in the things that they loved."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Constance rested her hip against the lower edge of the window, the child shifting to her other hip.

"So that when the darkness fails you, you remember the beauty of dawn, and when the light fails you, you remember the path of the stars." She answered.

"And when I am stuck underground," Thalion said (or under basket, he added to himself silently), "then what should I do? There is neither light nor dark."

"Ah, but that is where the most precious of gems are."

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Child trauma and shock is observed particularly in the children of war-struck areas, such as the Gaza strip, Iraq and others. The drawing was partially inspired by the drawings of children of Gaza, who made bloody hospital hallways and dead family members in destroyed houses.

Wicker basket theme is to show that usually children in shock retreat into themselves, causing them to behave younger than they are. They look for a safe haven from their nightmares and memories and that's usually into themselves, whether it is a good memory or just an emptiness.

Constance is an OC and she appears in my story 'A Duck', which shows an Elven Festival through the eyes of a child (and with a happier ending).

**Kindly do not express your views on the mentioned conflicts. This is not for a political or social or religious awareness. This one-shot simply expresses the horrors children face in war-struck lands.**

Next up, Galadriel. :)

Also I am going to do other characters as well. Like the ol' Gaffer, Ioreth (yep the healing woman in the book), Glorfindel, Lindir, Erestor and so on. All genres and hopefully less than a T rating. This one is as serious as it gets.

Smiley- Thank you so much. :D I love Samwise too!

Guest- Thank you. :)


	4. Celeborn

**Author's Note:**

I said Galadriel, didn't I? Her one-shot was getting so gloriously long that it might be more of a mini-story than a one-shot, so I decided to leave it be until I could work on it to reach my satisfaction.

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><p><em>Doriath,<em>

_First Age._

Celeborn swore loudly, flapping his arms as he sat atop his horse. Oropher roared laughing, as his kin tried hard to pull off the strange, foul-smelling brown substance in his hair. He looked down at it, stuck to his fingers in confusion before bringing it close to his nose to sniff at it gingerly. He made a disgusted sound and flicked his wrist, effectively getting off most of it from his fingers, though not all.

He glared up the trees.

"THRANDUIL OROPHERION!" Celeborn possessed a healthy pair of lungs, as he shouted at the grinning young ellon sitting on a branch high up in a tree. "WAIT TILL YOU GET DOWN FROM THERE AND I WILL TEACH YOU A LESSON!"

"Your silver hair needed a bit of color, lord Celeborn!" The cheeky ellon called down to him. he was broad-shouldered like his father, his features and general bone structure meeting his father's with a remarable resemblance. Oropher was still laughing, face buried in the mane of his horse, hands clutching his sides.

"And nothing like horse dung to color silver hair," Celeborn snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm. Thranduil widened his misty grey eyes innocently, an impudent smile still on his face.

"My lord! I thought you would never see my reasoning!"

Celeborn ground his teeth and growled low in his throat. Oropher's form had finally ceased shaking so violently and the father of only one child straightened, wiping tears from his cheeks, mouth still caught in a wide grin.

"You deserved it."

"Deserved it! Deserved it how?"

"My lord," Thranduil said solemnly. But Celeborn could see his eyes glittering in mischief. "It would be grievous indeed if you did not see the wrong in your ways and were punished nevertheless."

"Of course," Celeborn retorted, making sure his sarcasm was still pretty clear in his words.

"You see, my lord. My father and I caught wind of a certain pretty Noldo elleth catching your eye." Thranduil continued, returning his bow to his back. Celeborn glanced directly above him, grimacing as a large chunk of horse dung trickled on his back before falling with a flap on his horse. His mare tweaked her ears in mild annoyance. Sure enough, there was a leather satchel hung cleverly above him, sliced open by the arrow that was embedded on the tree that held it. "Now, we only heard this from the wardens who spied the exchange but not for you. Father and I agreed this was a terrible, terrible mistake on your part."

He turned to glare at his kin riding beside him, who immediately raised his hands in a show of innocence.

"I had nothing to with this." Oropher said hastily.

"Indeed."

"Honest," the fair-headed elf protested. Then he grinned, shook his head and laughed. "But I am happy Thranduil did it!"

"You make a terrible father." Celeborn muttered. He looked up at the ellon in the trees. "That is it! I am getting up there and I will beat you down, you insolent boy!"

"But there is another problem." Thranduil protested, shifting on his perch till his feet rested on the branch, ready to take flight. "Your mare doesn't care for smells."

It only took him a moment to understand what he meant. But that moment was far too late. Thranduil called the horse to drop Celeborn and drop him she did. Celeborn went sailing back from the mare's behind. She pranced around, whinnying in amusement. Celeborn groaned, Oropher laughed hard.

"THRANDUIL!"

It did not work. Thranduil was already fleeing. He heard Oropher dismount, and his kin's face loomed over him, golden hair flowing free, carefree.

"Valar deliver me from the house of Oropher." Celeborn said wearily, accepting Oropher's hand in helping him up. Oropher only chuckled in reply.

"Come," he said. "There's a stream where you can clean yourself. You will not be able to save that tunic though."

"You are enjoying this one far too much."

"Aye, I am!"

Oropher led him to a nearby stream, where Celeborn washed his hair before peeling off his tunic and shirt and wash it the best he could. Better to wear wet clothing and have wet hair in cool weather than to be covered in- Celeborn scowled.

"I am bribing your son's captain to assign him to more patrols."

"I wouldn't blame you." Oropher said, chuckling as he threw water at Celeborn. "Come, let us go."

They climbed back on their horses, intending to return to the city on a canter.

"So who is this Noldo?"

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I figured that the Sindarin welcomed the Noldorin partially because of their own curiosity of seeing their kind look so different and also for the fact that they lived in the peaceful realm. This is also connected with my one-shot "Celeborn At A Glance" if anyone want to know more about Celeborn.

Some might accuse me for being out of character here but I think Oropher and Celeborn were pretty close and there is not much of an age difference between Thranduil and Celeborn even. Oropher found his 'one' faster than Celeborn, and hence Thranduil was born much, much earlier than Celebrian. Also, here, they are still untouched by war, and Celeborn and Oropher both do not know who Galadriel is yet here (this takes place directly after the meeting between Celeborn and Galadriel in the one-shot I mentioned).

I never really felt that Oropher was the playing pranks type, I think he was lordly and composed even before becoming king. I think if anyone is capable, it is Thranduil, who bestowed these wonderful qualities on his son.

Keep in mind, this is youthful portrayals of the mentioned characters. The ones you have seen in LOTR, Silmarillion and other Tolkien works are of them when they witnessed kinslayings, Sauron's whisperings, War of Wrath, Doriath's downfall and so on. Here they are much more free.

If you ever do have the time, do please leave a review. I understand you might be interested, but there is no way for an author to know what your thoughts are until you leave a word or two. Anonymous reviews are also accepted.

Smiley- Thank you. :)


	5. Galadriel

**Author's Note:**

Suggested by I luv Milarion 1201, who wanted a fic between Celeborn and Galadriel.

Feel free to review or PM me more suggestions if you have them. :)

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><p><em>Doriath,<em>

_First Age._

He sat beside me upon the large rock with such utter ease as if he had all the time in the world. I study him carefully, not wanting it to be too obvious as I do so. Tall, broad-shouldered and silver-haired, he resembled Oropher to a great degree, though the latter had golden hair instead of silver, and seemed calm like a flowing river. Celeborn, on the other hand, seemed fierce, like a flickering flame in danger of being blown to a great fire. He was dressed in light blue riding garments, while I opted for light green garments. He was looking away, studying the sunset as the colors of the sky above changed color. We were both acutely aware of the guards that had followed us, hidden amongst the trees, not intruding but were still intruders nevertheless.

"Why have you brought me here?" Celeborn asked, his voice suddenly breaking the silence that had stretched between us. His voice seemed loud against the soft singing of the birds as they greeted the coming twilight.

"You were the one who led me here." I returned, tearing my eyes away from him as I studied the sunset. The shards of alternating red and orange of the sky reminded me of the stained glass windows in Tirion, which decorated the palace walls. The lord sighed beside me.

"No more games, my lady." He said, his voice sounding weary. I sober, realizing that this was not the time for a jest. A pause stretched between us, while I considered how best to answer him. He waited patiently but I found no words to give him a suitable reply, so he finally sighed. "I tire of this, Lady Alatáriel."

I only inhale, briefly closing my eyes. Decades have passed since we had first met. A playful banter had ensued, and to this day I do not know why I ever returned his remarks. But for all the bantering and conversations I found myself silent. Why had I brought him here indeed? I had no answer, though I would admit that his presence brought me comfort. The answer, however, eluded me as it did him.

Much to my silent disappointment, taking in my silence for so long, Celeborn sighed and hopped down from his perch.

"You and I are both young." Celeborn said, offering a hand to me. I studied it. It was long-fingered, pale, with a swordsman's calluses on his knuckles. I looked back at him. "You are proud, almost arrogant." I bristle at his words, but his knowing glance, piercing like the Ice that we had crossed, stopped my words. And his further words stopped my thoughts completely. "And I am far too cautious." Numbly, I accepted his hand and he helped me down. I shook my skirts to remove what dirt stuck to them, mind still not comprehending what he had just said. He offered me his hand once again and he led us back to our horses. I was tall, so I needed no help in mounting my horse. I was not my cousin, Írissë, who would ride her horses even bareback. I preferred the sidesaddle, more so for the reason I was brought up that way than having tried any other form of riding. And as I have said, I needed no help, but Lord Celeborn held on to my horse's head as I mounted her. Patting her neck, he turned and got onto his own saddle, reining in his eager stallion as he did so. His effortless actions returned my thoughts back to me.

"What did you mean cautious?" I ask, my voice sharper than I originally intended. Celeborn looked surprised, turning his head to study my face. I held my head high, back straight as I had been taught in all my life in Aman. Then Celeborn's face curved into a smile, much to my surprise and he shook his head ruefully.

"Do you know my kin, Lord Oropher?"

"I believe I have had the pleasure of meeting him at court."

"He believes what King Thingol believes." He spoke.

I stiffened at his words. Celeborn only laughed lightly and shook his head.

"Where is the young lady who first laughed and teased? You have become proud, your heart encased in a ring of ice, afraid to let others know how much their words hurt, when they look upon you and see only your Noldorin heritage."

"If I have changed then you may place the blame on your king." I replied, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. "I cannot speak the language I was born with, nor can I walk through his lands without one or another look at me and whisper while I pass them. Safety he offered and yet here I feel like a bird encaged rather than set free. My people are at war and yet we receive no help from your king."

"You said so yourself that you had not come here for war." Celeborn said looking down at the reins in his hand. "But come! You misunderstand me. Oropher does not blame you for the Kinslaying that took place in Alqualondë. Rather he worries for me."

I stare at him in open curiosity now. For so long I had kept the visage of a proud, cold noblewoman to survive the court that his words confused me and I lost my demeanor. Seeing my look, he added, "Beauty has great effect on the hearts of Ellyn, my lady." I could barely ponder on his words that he turned his horse and prodded him to a canter. I followed, wondering whether I heard him right.

Twilight was near when we returned to the palace. He dismounted first. Again, he held my horse's head as I got down from the saddle. He gave the reins of both horses to a nearby groom and offering his elbow; he led me up the steps of the palace.

"One thing has troubled me greatly." Celeborn said suddenly and I glanced at him curiously. He led me to one of the indoor gardens, stopping where the woodland flowers were in bloom. He had let go of my hand.

"The question is, my lady," Celeborn spoke. I looked at him and suddenly took a step back, the grin on his face charming and his glint in his eyes most often the type I had seen from time to time in the eyes of his kin Lord Oropher and his son Lord Thranduil, when they were up to one of their mischiefs. His grin became wider and he took another step towards me. I stood my ground, for I was not the type to back down. He smirked. "Well, it is more of a curiosity, really, that you move around court without a single care as to what others speak of you and your people behind your back and yet you take whatever is necessary to make sure I think otherwise. It goes to saying something, does it not?"

With that, he bowed with a flourish over my hand and walked away, leaving my thoughts churning.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I am actually quite happy with this. Not too shabby for the first time in writing in first person.

**Good? Bad? Let me know!**


	6. Sons of Elrond

**Author's Note:**

Kindly note that I do NOT write slash of any kind. Hence, none of my stories should EVER be taken in that account or be remarked as such. Kindly respect this viewpoint. Thank you.

Taking up the suggestion of a reader Yuki Suou, who wanted to see a fiction of the sons of Elrond.

* * *

><p><em>Imladris,<em>

_Third Age._

"I wonder which one of us is the harder teacher." Glorfindel mused. Legolas looked up to see him lounging peacefully by the window, long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles where his feet rested on the footstool. The golden-haired Elf had his hands interlaced behind his head, basking in the sunlight.

"You are wondering or you are musing on whether to test your thoughts?" Legolas asked dryly, returning to his book, flipping a page.

"Maybe I am leaning to the latter," there was a sliver of amusement in the Elf's voice. "After all, the twins have been insisting on joining the hunts for orcs for some time now."

"Are they?" that peaked his interest and he looked up, flipping the book closed and placing it on the table. They made it a point to meet now and then to discuss teaching the twins the art of war. While Glorfindel excelled tremendously in handling the different types of swords, shields, spears and the various fighting forms, Legolas excelled in archery, stealth and silent killing. Elrond had insisted his sons knew as much as they could of both, not wanting them to be underequipped. "Well now, they should indeed know what it will be like to fight in such a manner."

Silent laughter lit up Glorfindel's eyes. "Indeed they should." He said laughing. He lifted his legs off the footstool and placed them upon the floor. "Come. No doubt they would be waiting for us on the fields."

"Of course, and I intend to give them a complete idea as to what it will be like in fighting the enemy continuously."

"My, son of Thranduil, I never knew you to be so sadistic."

"I never knew you to be manipulative."

Laughing the two mentors left the room. Legolas being far younger than Glorfindel, could not hope to match him when it came to learning by experience, but he had witnessed the War against Sauron, and that placed him in high regard and he had a natural talent that came to handling bows. Glorfindel respected the younger Ellon, the same Legolas respected him for his unwavering bravery and the legend attached to his name.

They found the twins waiting them in the fields. Identical, and prone to dress in the same clothing and wear their hair in the same manner, the twins were hard to differentiate, except for the younger one Elladan, was said to have a keen eye, and Elrond was half-suspicious he had inherited his foresight. But the boy spoke nothing of it. The twins had taken after his father's style of growth that spoke of their mortal descent, growing slowly once like Elf-children and then in spurts after the Race of Men. It had troubled Celebrían and the rest much but Elrond was unfazed by it, calmly asking the seamstresses to ready new clothing with newer measurements.

"My brother and I gave our dear foster-fathers great pains, growing the same way." Elrond said, giving a dry smile and shaking his head. "It will pass once they reach majority."

So the two children, though they were in their eyes, were far mature in thought and possessed a strength that belied their smaller frames. It was then Elrond realized that they were ready to be taught in the art of war and insisted them to have instructors.

"Today we are going to do something different." Legolas announced. Outside the fields, he had befriended the twins. Inside the fields, he and Glorfindel were in charge. Glorfindel shot him a curious look and the twins looked surprised and a bit apprehensive at the same time. If Glorfindel had spoken, they could guess what they were up to. But Legolas was the one who was unpredictable. "First, we are going to start with some discipline instilling."

The twins were openly apprehensive now.

Nearly two hours later, Glorfindel and Legolas stood with their arms crossed, the sun three hours from noon as they watched the two young Elves struggle to hold a bucket full of water above their heads. Anytime their arms would falter, an alert soldier would rap their hands, forcing them to correct their position.

"Instilling discipline?" Glorfindel asked wryly. They took alternate days to take lead of the twins' training.

"You need to be disciplined to follow the leader's orders." Legolas replied primly. Finally he called out, "That is enough!"

The twins dropped the buckets with relieved sighs, before groaning from the pain shooting up their arms.

"You will not complain." Legolas ordered sternly. He nodded the soldier who had been watching the twins like a hawk. "Drill them through their forms."

The soldier nodded, rapping Elladan on his shoulder sharply with his wooden staff. "Move," he barked. "Go in your positions." He started to call out the forms and the twins kept with him, arms and back stiff. Slowly the soldier built up a pace, forcing the twins to struggle along. The twins were nearly forty years of age, only a decade from their majority. Soon, they will be allowed to join patrols.

"When you are out with the soldiers," Legolas shouted over the brisk calls. "No one is going to care if you are tired, or cramped. You will move with the army or you are worthless." He continued, walking along the length of the field, watching carefully as the Elves moved. Whenever a form was not to Glorfindel's satisfaction, he would call out for them to do it again. Glorfindel refused to tell the sons of Elrond what was wrong with their forms, forcing them to do it again and again until they realized their mistakes. The two mentors' eyes met briefly and came to a mutual agreement. This was a test to see how far the twins would endure. Only _then_ they could consider taking up a request to Elrond on this matter. And this test needed to be a hard one. They were the sons of Elrond, a royalty in their right, nobility in standing, and out in the Wild it will be a matter of life and death. The mentors themselves _needed_ to know the twins could keep up.

When Glorfindel entered the field, gone was the brief smile and the joyful look in his eyes. The Warrior side of him had come, his face deadly and the swipes of his practice sword deadlier. The twins were facing one another and the Vanya as well. It turned into an intricate dance of footwork and swordplay. It was noontime and after sweat had flown freely and they were all bruised while Legolas watched did they break apart and decided to stop for some food and drink.

"Do not sit immediately." Legolas cautioned. If they did, their muscles would cramp suddenly and they will be in more pain than they could imagine. Instead the two mentors coaxed the twins into their seats and massaged their legs and back briefly while they ate before taking any refreshments themselves.

After noontime they returned to the fields, with Legolas asking the others tutors to leave the twins for the day.

"You are enjoying this." Glorfindel said.

"They wanted to take part in the hunts, fine, but I will not have two _boys_ lollygagging behind the rest and being nothing but useless weights." Legolas said loudly, his voice carrying to the twins. If the sons of Elrond heard, they did not react to it, and if they had, they would still not reply. They learned long ago that if they shot back a remark at these two mentors, they would be in far more trouble than ever.

Legolas gestured at the two Elves as they stood in front of their targets before calling out the commands. He called out at a reasonable pace before becoming rapid to the point where accuracy began to suffer. He soon shifted them to another set of targets, which he had specially rigged for the day by some apprentices; moving targets, which crossed the fields at varying speeds at varying distances. Legolas' craft needed more delicacy than Glorfindel's, for he knew he could not push the twins too far. Unused to the strain the bows were putting on their arms for longer periods of time, their tendons would rip and the fibers of their muscles would tease apart if he was not too careful. The twins, strong and able as they were, were not used to this form of strain. Besides, the evening was coming quickly. Winter was close.

As the evening came, Legolas conjured up yet another form of test, one he knew the twins particularly detested. He pulled up small balls of metal, the jingling coming from inside them as even smaller balls rolled around within them. They were all cleverly painted, camouflaged against the colors of the sky. The twins regarded the balls with silent disgust but did not voice their misgivings. It was a good thing, for Legolas had planned to make the practice grow longer till the night if they had. Not archery no, but perhaps something else to keep their thoughts entertained for the next time they spoke against their mentors. Giving the balls to the soldiers who threw them in the air rapidly, the twins held up their bows and shoot just as rapidly, bows faltering just a little from exhaustion.

Finally, when the sun was beginning to set, Legolas had pity on them.

"We are done for today." In spite of drilling the discipline of keeping their faces schooled to nothing, he noticed the faint lines of relief appearing. He could not blame them. He had been hard on the two. Legolas mentally shook his head and held up the pouch before tossing it to them. "Here," he said. Elrohir caught it and opened it to reveal a pot closed off with a cork. "This is a salve specially used after intensive training. Mix a bit with your bathwater to ease your muscles and sooth your joints." He nodded at them both. "Dismissed. Now get out of my sight."

"You know," Glorfindel said softly. "When I planned to see how hard we were on the twins, I had not expected the day to turn out like this."

Legolas remained silent as they made their way up to the House. When they reached the steps and they ascended, Legolas finally spoke. "I lost my grandfather to a hasty charge that killed half of our army. Part of the reason was that they were not equipped to fight the enemy that had greater arms than we did. If they ever find themselves fighting the enemy alone, they should have discipline and stamina beside their skills to do so."

"I have decided you are a harder master than I!"

"Oh, as if that is ever possible! I saw the twins holding more bruises and walking with more difficulty on days that you lead!"

oOo

_Orc Camp,_

_Third Age,_

_After the Sailing of Lady Celebrían._

They listened quietly to the orcs who fought over the Man-flesh they had conquered from a group of bandits that had been scouring through the Wild. Waves of contempt flickered through them as they heard their guttural cries and disgust. There were nearly forty-five orcs in the camp, a number that impressive against the two Elves, but burning in rage and lust for revenge as they were, it would not be a problem.

They went up slightly, and it was Elrohir who noticed the open barrel of water at the outer edge of the camp. He gestured at it towards his brother and then the campfire and nodded. Elladan nodded back. The two Elves made their way to the barrel of water, ladling out a bucketful and noticing that the orcs were far too greedy for meat than to make sure they were safe. Likely they thought they had no adversaries anymore in the area. What a terribly devious thought. They moved swiftly to the campfire, reckless of the case that they could now be seen. Sure enough, some of the orcs who could not reach the corpses saw them and howled out a warning. But by then Elladan had already grabbed three rough sticks of burning wood, throwing them in succession at different tents. Elrohir doused the fire, making sure it would not be available against them. the tents burst into flames and burned down, extinguishing just as quickly when the fires lost their fuel and the two Elves brought up their weapons, their bows first. They shot down quickly, the hands holding their bows grappling their arrows and their hands merely moving from that supply of arrows than reaching back to their quivers and wasting more time. They down at least seven to eight orcs each before they neared them. placing away their bows and taking up their swords they went back to back, protecting each other and making sure no blade went past their guard. It was not enough, for Elladan heard Elrohir give a soft hiss but paid no intention to it, feeling the strong comforting presence of his back pressed against his own and he knew whatever the wound, it was not an immediate fatal one. When they downed the last orc, they were both breathing heavily, chests heaving and their hearts beating wildly.

"You are hurt." It was not a question. Elladan frowned and added, "Come, you need me tend to that wound."

He did not argue, knowing the practicality of it and they went to a nearby burnt frame of a tent, seating outside to have some support for Elrohir to lean back against. Elladan shifted the torn fabric away and studied the wound. It was a long gash in his thigh, not too deep but deep enough to cut muscle. Elrohir could feel and use his lower leg, so it was not going to be a problem. Elladan pulled out the bag of medical supplies they kept replenished with them.

"I think Glorfindel and Legolas' relentless training has come of use after all." Elladan remarked.

"They would have had my head if they saw this wound." Elrohir retorted.

"Aye, there is that. This will sting and hurt." Elladan poured the fortified wine over the wound, causing Elrohir to hiss sharply. Then he readied his needle on a flame at the end of a branch he pulled from the fireplace, threading it and then proceeding to stitch his wound. Elladan was not much of a healer as Elrohir was but they had a mutual understanding never to treat their own wounds, for fear of underestimating a wound.

"At least the blades were not poisoned." Elladan's words broke through the haze of concentration Elrohir had conjured up to think of anything other than the needle going through his flesh.

"Small forms of mercies," Elrohir muttered, beads of sweat appearing. He would be limping for a while.

"Almost done," Elladan soothed, pressing a steadying hand on the knee of his wounded leg, keeping it from lurching up unintentionally as he worked. "I do not think they would have wanted this for us."

"I know." Elrohir said, leaning back but not resting his back on the burnt frame of the tent but

"They would be proud though." Elladan said. "If it had just been the orcs and nothing else involved."

"They would indeed."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Has my writing changed? It just seems different somehow.

I am WAY behind replying to reviews but let me telling you I love each and every one of you guys when you review. Thank you so much!

If you have any suggestions, feel free to drop them and I will see if I could squeeze in a plotline for it.

**Concept:**

Yes, the subject of Legolas being older than the children of Elrond always seem to rise up somehow so let me explain.

Legolas saying that the forest of Fangorn was so old that he almost felt young again intrigued me. Searching Fangorn forest, I found out it had appeared sometime in the First Age in a form of a larger forest but over time it diminished and formed only the part of the forest which is Fangorn forest. Note the word 'almost young', which kind of suggested that he felt young but not quite. So I considering the idea that he was really old but Fangorn forest was definitely older. With regards to his personality, I would not call light-heartedness to be the sign of youth, since the sons of Elrond were grim and yet Glorfindel was regarded to be joyous and he is far older.

*swings trollfic at the author*

Ok, ok, I am going. Sheesh. :P

P.S. This story is much longer than the ones before it. Who knows? I might starting 9K one-shots. -.-

*Gets thrown out*

Ah, I am going! I am going! I will kick me out meself!

Who do you want to see next? :)


	7. Arodien

_Greenwood the Great,_

_Second Age._

The Rangers had used their powers to light up the night in the forest, the floating lights high up in the branches of the trees. The clearing was teaming with people, and laughter was mingled with music. It was the harvest feast, for this time the harvest had been particularly fruitful, and the Elves were drinking and were glad.

She laughed as she grabbed Milwen elbow, dragging her through the clearing.

"Come on!"

The two Ellyth were just as dressed as the rest of the Elves for the feast. She wore a light silver gown, silver ribbons woven into her hair. Milwen wore a dress of green, her sleeves wide and white in color from the elbows. The young Ellyth looked about them, admiring the view. There were deer and pheasants being ready to be eaten, and fowl was there as well. The gravy on the golden skin was enough to make anyone's mouth water, the welcoming scents of appetizing food wafting in the air. They spotted nuts baked in honey, and caramelized sugar, the sugar being a rare treat and they managed to get a few for themselves, the cooks shaking their heads as they saw the trays empty quickly. Silvan Elves had different customs, with many Elves sharing from a single bowl or a tray. Smaller portions would pass from hand to hand until all had taken their fill.

Licking the honey from her fingers, Arodien shook her head as one of the Rangers asked Milwen for a dance. She went, shooting her a merry look. Arodien wandered about the clearing, watching the Ellyn play games at one corner, comprising of shooting and riding. She saw the ladies dancing in a corner to some music. As she came closer to the stream near her village, she spotted a few archers and soldiers wading in the water, with their trousers rolled up and their boots strewn on the bank. The division of archers were welcomed back home after five years of extensive training, and among them was Golvon. Her eyes lit up at the prospect of meeting him again. The Elf had been just a few years older than her, and he had played many pranks on her as children are wont to do. But he left with kind words and she had not heard of him since.

He had his back turned to her, conversing with an Ellon she did not know. He had grown muscular and slightly broad-shouldered over the years, she noted. Still, he could not be too changed. She remembered his smile and his love for the trees. Mayhap they could meet again. At the moment though, she intend to get back at him for the entire childhood memories of playing tricks on her. She went to him, who was still speaking to his friend, hands gesturing lightly as they spoke. Reaching him, she spotted that he stood just at the bank of the stream, deeper and wider than most streams in the forest. It was perfect. She crept up, taking him completely by surprise as she placed both her hands on his back and pushed quickly.

He went into the stream with a terrific splash.

The Ellon he had been speaking to started in surprise, whipping his head towards her and then towards the disappeared Elf in the water before letting out a roar of laughter. She took note of him, a young Ellon, dressed in deep blue clothing with his heavy locks pulled back in a single braid. He was clutching his sides as he laughed, bending over, the only hint of him capable in a fight was the dagger embedded in one of his boots.

"My lady, who did you think he was?" The Ellon resurfaced, gasping and reaching the shallow end of the stream. When she saw him, her heart dropped. He was just as tall as Golvon was, but he was broad-shouldered, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline and _gray_ eyes instead of blue, making her realize she, unfortunately, downed the wrong Elf.

Arodien felt uncertain.

"Who is he?" She asked. The way he was drawing himself to a height, a single brow arching at her made her realize he was not just a soldier but probability one belong to a high rank. He frowned at her for a brief moment before bending and coughing the amount of water he inhaled.

"Why, none other than Thranduil, the son of Oropher himself!"

Arodien felt her cheeks burst into flame as she looked at the Ellon before her. He was still sputtering from the undeserved and sudden washing he took. Suddenly she was aware of all the eyes trained on her of Ellyn and Ellyth. She spotted her father shaking his head behind the chief, Oropher standing, a loose fist resting above his mouth before shifting it away to reveal the barest hint of a smile. She glanced back at the Ellon in the water, who was frowning up at her, probably half-insulted that he had been caught unaware by a slim Elleth. His black clothes were dripping with water, sticking to his figure, the silver collar adorned in white gems gleaming in the light.

"Forgive me, my lord." She said, falling into a deep curtsy. "I-I had not known."

The Elf looked stunned for a moment as he stared at her before laughing. His arms swayed, fingers causing ripples through the water and he shook his head, still grinning widely.

"How can I not forgive a lady so pretty thus?"

If possible, she felt the color of her cheeks deepen.

oOo

_Greenwood the Great,_

_Some years later._

"You LIE!" Arodien burst out, mouth still agape in bafflement. Fion grinned, looking up at King Oropher seated across the chess board between them. Oropher was chuckling as he took Fion's pawn.

Thranduil relaxed in his chair, lips twitching in mirth and managing to look so devilish that Arodien was half-tempted to kick him in the shins.

"I do not, my lady." Thranduil said, keeping his voice solemn and struggling to keep his face straight. "You do not need to hide it any longer. We are married after all, just as you wanted."

"Just as I wanted! If I remember correctly you were the one who just wouldn't _stop_ for even a _single_ moment pursuing-"

"Let us not forget," Thranduil said, sitting up and matching her tone. "_You_ were the one who pushed _me_ into the stream. I think you wanted me to notice you."

Arodien straightened and placed her hands on her hips, eyes closing in surprised bafflement as she let out a disbelieving laugh. Her light golden sleeves flared at the movement, her green skirt shifting as she moved foot to foot.

"And what exactly is so romantic about being pushed into the stream by an _Elleth_?"

"Well, nothing really," Thranduil said. His voice had open laughter now. "Except the fact that you wanted to get noticed and here you are. So there really is no need to hide that you were the one pursuing me."

"Why you disillusioned-"she lunged for him in fury, but Thranduil was already up his seat and fleeing for the door, leaving laughter in his wake as his irate wife pursued him.

"Ah, the lady pursues me once again! I seem to have a certain charm considering you, my lady!"

Oropher chuckled and shook his head as he took Fion's advisor.

"Playful banter soon after marriage," Oropher said. "I never considered Thranduil to be this lovesick."

Fion smiled, retaliating by taking the King's knight.

"Well, he is happy."

"They both are."

"Might I ask why you are not playing with Thranduil? You usually chose him for a chess partner."

"Thranduil detests chess, for reasons I cannot comprehend. Also, the Elf is far too in love to be of any use when it comes to chess. He will be far too easy to defeat with his head always stuffed with daydreams." Oropher paused and then a mischievous glint came into his eye. "Or perhaps I _will_ call him to play with me. Some defeat would do good for the pride that he has inflating lately!"

The pair laughed.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

What do you think? I was actually cleaning out when I found this and I remembered one of my reviewers wanted to see this meeting. I just added a few touches since the old one was pretty old and had a different style of events.

Arodien is my OC and she is the wife of Thranduil, currently appearing most in the Tempest Trilogy.

The Elf Thranduil was talking to was Fion and this meeting is mentioned in Tempest: Modern Age.

Fion is an OC and is Thranduil's close Silvan friend. He is also the mentor of Dorian and Legolas.

Milwen is an OC and the mother of Dorian.


	8. Thorin

**Author's Note:**

What you can expect in this collection are:

1. ALL Silmarillion characters.

2. ALL LOTR characters.

3. ALL Hobbit characters.

4. ALL characters from Tolkien Legenderium (something I am excited to do)

Also, for those asking me about Tauriel, I am sorry but she will not appear in this collection. I started my Universe well before the Hobbit movies and it was far too developed to allow Tauriel into the mix. Also, Tolkien did not put many female characters in his book, considering the years he was in. So the same applies to my stories, except Tempest, where female characters play an important role just as the male ones.

Suggestion by Jessia Rae and aliena.

Onward, my faithful steed!

*kicks Thranduil's moose forward*

Readers: It's an elk.

Author: Moose.

* * *

><p><em>Lonely Mountain,<em>

_Third Age._

No matter where one went, none could forget their first home.

The Lonely Mountain. Words fail to describe the beauty of it, the detail lying in its architecture. He could go on all day and yet he would not be able to describe it all. It started with two great doors of stones, always open to welcome friends into the Lonely Mountain. The visitors would enter into a great hall, lit by the sunlight streaming from the open doors and the many windows curved into the mountain wall. Great, thick pillars rose on either side of the mountain, straight lines cut deep into its stone, curving into intricate patterns of squares on the top and the bottom of the pillars. The floor beneath their feet would be tiled with stone of different colors, forming a checkered pattern. The doors giving off from either side of the halls were large, capable of letting in even a tall Elf without any discomfort to the passerby. And around each door would be detailed engravings, with precious stones of ruby and emerald embedded into them, with sapphire as well.

Enter through any door, _any door_, and there were wonders beyond compare. If one turned left, he would wander over to where the smiths worked in earnest, capable of making jewelry fitting to the tastes of Elves, Dwarves and Men. Some of the rings were thick, set with jewels with smooth edges, glittering in the fire coming from the forges. Others were necklaces, so thin and elegant to suit an Elleth's taste. Further still, the Dwarves worked hard on weapons, made of tempered steel, forming beautiful ripples of bluish grey upon the blades before putting them in sheaths, with the symbol of the Lonely Mountain engraved on the scabbard and the blade. They made weapons from swords to hammers to axes, whatever pleased the buyer, and there was skill in their hands.

But turn right from the Main Hall, and come upon the Dwarves who tinkered away with stone. There would be heaps upon heaps of emerald and ruby and sapphire, all sorted into large bowls which could easily fit three to four Dwarves in its width. The gems would be rough, and the Dwarves would work on them until they lit up the floor and their surroundings from the facets the Dwarves cut on them. Then the Dwarves would weigh them, and sort them before sending them to the smiths for further work. Their equipment was fine for a work that was even finer. The Dwarves had made lenses from glass, fitting them into small tubes of metal through which they observed the details of every single gem, marking its impurities and its value.

But come! Go straight ahead from the Main Hall, behind the statue of the King with his son and grandson standing on either side of him. There is a raised platform, leading to dual doors that remained open at all times, even when the outer great doors were closed for the night. And here came the true beauty of the Lonely Mountain.

There is sheer drop below, if one was not too careful. And there were lights! Lights all around them, so that one would not fear the dark. The golden lights coming from the many lanterns of thousands of miners at work would light up the Lonely Mountain' insides as if it were daylight. Glance down at the sheer drop below, and there is still light in the seemingly bottomless crevice. Thick wires would go along the walls of the Mountain, made of fortified steel, and would hold great platforms aloft, fenced on all side except for the side facing the Mountain wall. There the miners would work, the soothing sounds of the hammer against the stone filling the air, creating a marvelous symphony. For there were veins upon veins of gold and silver on the Lonely Mountain, and they would harvest it for use. Sometimes, some miners would hit a particular rock, only to find what is called the moonstone, a rare type of beauty that the Men of Dale loved dearly. It fetched a pity price, and so did the white gems that shone like starlight in the dark, something the Elves always loved. For wealth was aplenty in the Lonely Mountain.

But go up the staircase, with the crevice yawning on either side of the steps that was bound with fences made of steel and gold, and turn left upon reaching the first platform, and there were a series of large rooms with vaulted ceilings with forges and mining equipment for the use of young apprentices eager to learn the skill of their forefathers. There they would work, remembering each strike of hammer on the hot metal resting upon the anvil, each accidental burn for this was the way of Dwarves.

All the Dwarves that worked there were rich, and none were in need of any wealth. They could buy the rarest of the dyes which were the most expensive ones. They could easily buy spices and rare plants for treating ailments from passing traders, and many traders came to them, knowing they would be paid handsomely. The ladies would wear the jewelry gifted by their husbands who worked on them with care, and their adornments would be finely made, and constantly the Dwarves would look for even newer, more refined ways of dealing with metals, and cutting stones. Deep and deeper still the Dwarves would curve the stone, constantly making large corridors capable of taking in a sea of people. And while they dwelt in the mountain, there was no lack of air, and they were content.

And the nights would be full of the Dwarves passing through their family halls. All the halls had their individual kitchens, where the appetizing aromas would drift from. There would be meat served, nearly breaking off the bone, and there would be long, cylindrical bread, firm on the outside but soft on the inside. They would eat in silverware and all would be merry.

Such was the way our people lived in the Lonely Mountain, but you would not know, for you were not there to see the ruin that came upon us.

oOo

_Blue Mountains,_

_Third Age,_

_After the Coming of Smaug._

He fell silent, eyes staring listlessly into the fire that cast his room into a fiery glow. Talking about his childhood home brought back dear memories of the place. The night was cold, and the stone walls beneath the mountain had become chilly, the warmth of the fire barely driving it away. His rooms were modest ones compared to the large, luxurious rooms he once had back in the Lonely Mountain.

Fili and Kili sat in front of him, both of them leaning towards the fire, hands resting on their knees. The two sons of his sister were dear to him and they were eager to learn as much as they could about the Lonely Mountain. Dís barely ever spoke of her home, the pain too great for her to bear and she did not remember every detail, every corridor like it was burned into memory as his was. So the brothers would oft come to him, listening to what he had to offer. Sometimes, when the mood struck him, he told them in detail, as he just did, and sometimes he would only speak a few words. All of it would end abruptly. And Fili and Kili knew better than to question his silence or press for more.

Finally he stirred, causing both his nephews to look up at him.

"Go back to your mother," he said. "Time is being wasted reminiscing about lands long lost, but not forgotten. Go. and tell her that I need her tomorrow for negotiations with the traders."

"Yes, uncle," the brothers said, rising from their seats. Kili, hesitated following his brother to the door.

"If you had a choice, uncle," he said, "Would you retake the Lonely Mountain?"

"Aye, if I had a choice." There was bitterness in his voice. "But I have no army and no army could penetrate the force of Smaug. And I will not have my people needlessly killed."

"But if you had the means, would you?"

"If I had the means, I would. But that is not now. Go. Leave me."

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Relax; If you guys want to see characters again, I will do it.

What do you think? A bit different than what I usually go for, but then this is my first time doing a Dwarf setting. Personally, I think this one-shot was more of a teaser trailer kind than a satisfying one-shot. I mean, if I was a reader, not a writer, then I would be going like "Wait, I need more!".

**Concept:**

By the way, I do not follow the movies.

Like, for example, the movies showed Thorin working away in towns of Men. However, he and his people took refuge in the Blue Mountains, his father becoming the ruler. After his father's absence, he had become king and ruled over his people. The refugees were not poor, but they were no longer as rich as they had been in the Lonely Mountain.

Also, Thorin was like 195 years old in canon when he died after the Battle of Five Armies. He was really, really old, especially for a Dwarf, and was depicted as, well, old before the movies. So I am following that.

Dis- She was the sister of Thorin and the mother of Fili and Kili. I would suspect that she would have helped him here and there when it came to matters of the kingdom.

One of the things I do know is that when reminscing, you kind of remember little things and all of them in sequence. So it is usually the setting of the memory first before focusing on the people. Attach it to a bad memory (coming of the dragon and destruction of your home, for example) and the person is more than liable of abruptly stopping in the narrative. The idea was to keep the first section detailed before ending it in a way to make the readers realize they were reading someone's narrative.

Description was a pain. Good Lord.

**Replies to Guests:**

Jessie Rae Baby: Here you go. :) Do feel free to drop in any other suggestion!


	9. Glorfindel

**Author's Note:**

I did not think I needed to repeat myself, but some PMs have forced me to. Please note that I do NOT write slash in whatever form. When giving me suggestions, please recognize this small preference of mine.

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><p><em>Gondolin,<em>

_First Age,_

"Glorfindel? Are you awake?"

"No."

Ecthelion sighed. Both of them lay stretched on their backs far from the palace, facing the sky above them. Here the only light came from the stars shining above, raining silver light on both of them, the grass taking on a silvery-white hue.

"What think you of the stars?"

Silence.

"It is said our fathers awoke to the stars, and admired the beauty of it, and its reflection in the lake-water."

"Go to sleep, Ecthelion." The powerfully-built Ellon said, rolling to his side and facing Ecthelion, his golden hair streaming behind him.

"Are these truly the adornments of beauty from Varda in the sky, like lanterns lighting a dark hall?"

He met with more silence. Glorfindel said nothing, enjoying the cool frigid mountain air, and the scent of fresh grass beneath him, with the crickets singing their nightly song.

"Or perhaps these are more than just lights? What if the Valar use them to cast light on all darkness or perhaps to espy others?"

"Ecthelion-"

"Nay, really, it is something to wonder upon."

Ecthelion gave a surprised gasp as a great cloak settled upon him. Fumbling he pulled Glorfindel's cloak off of his figure and sitting up he glared at the chuckling Vanya lying beside him, eyes still closed in a feeble attempt in getting some rest.

"Is this why you are outside, my friend? Did your lady wife banish you from the bedchamber when you came upon your poetic mood?"

"I hardly think that is related." Ecthelion answered, disgruntled as he lay back. Taking advantage of the cloak, he settled it upon himself, enjoying the warmth that Glorfindel had given up. "Tell me still; what do you think of the light of the stars?"

Glorfindel sighed and opened his eyes to meet Ecthelion's grey ones.

"Whether in the light of the stars or in the light of the sun," he said. "One will always walk in darkness as long as he befriends it. To walk in the light, one must leave the dark." With that, Glorfindel closed his eyes and relaxed for some much needed rest.

"You are more poetic than I am." Ecthelion said after a pause. Glorfindel smiled a little as sleep began to overtake him.

"Hush."

oOo

_Imladris,_

_Third Age,_

Two identical elflings sat beside Glorfindel as he listed the stories of Gondolin. Paintings set in glass for preservation were littered about them, some of Glorfindel's most prized possessions.

"Who is this one?" Elrohir asked, holding up a painting of a young Ellon, eyes closed and lips curled into a small smile as he sat on the edge of a fountain, garbed in silver, blue and grey. A white flute lay across his lap, the water drops from the fountain splashing against the side of the face turned towards the fountain.

"Ecthelion of the Fountain," Glorfindel said. "He was younger than I, but well-known to liven up any feast or part with his presence. It is said that he was tutored in playing the flute by Lord Maglor himself." In Elrond's house, the Fëanorians were called Lords, especially Elrond's foster-fathers.

"What was he like?" Elladan asked.

"He loved philosophy and meditation, of all things. He was a dear friend of me but alas! When I was reborn, he had yet to be. I have not yet met him after the burning of Gondolin." Glorfindel fell silent, gazing out the window as the gentle patter of rain upon the window-glass filled the air. Finally he roused himself.

"That is enough for now. I think you have learned enough of Gondolin to write your assignments to give to Erestor later. Go along, children!"

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

So. Very. Behind. In. Reviewing but thank you sooooooooooo much for your reviews! I am sorry. It is just that I haven't been feeling well recently and with it, life is pretty insane! Enjoy this little snippet though!

Also keep the suggestions coming! I make a list of all the characters and write whichever one strikes an inspiration into me. This one was PMed to me by one of the readers who wanted to see a little bit of Glorfindel and Ecthelion (though they were mentioned separately, I decided to place them together.)


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